Convenience
by TheRedHorror
Summary: Three years after the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, Erik finds himself in a marriage of convenience with a woman named Julia. Can they overcome their strange circumstance? Or will their pasts hold them back?
1. Prologue

**(A/N) So this is the first fic I've posted! I hope you enjoy it! Also, I only rated it T because I am overly self-conscious. I write clean! Anyways, this is based on the 2004 movie because I love it so much! And I give Erik the last name Butler because I've been doing that for years, based off of, of course, the one and only Gerard Butler. Without further adieu, here is the story!**

**Prologue**

London, England was no Paris, France. The architecture was beautiful but far simpler than the Gothic beauty of Paris. Whereas Rococo furniture and art filled the salons of the wealthy aristocrats' houses of Paris, far less ornate decorations filled the simple apartment room on Billings street. It was an old building, more than likely having scene the days before Queen Victoria. Signs of having been recently remodeled showed, but signs that the cheapest materials possible were used showed even more. The wallpaper was lumpy and peeling in places, the floor boards creaked every time you stepped on them, the furniture felt like it was ready to break, and the plumbing was less than desirable. However, it was affordable. And affordable was all he was looking for.

It had been nearly three years to the date since he had escaped Paris, leaving a ruined opera company and an angry mob behind him. More importantly, however, he had left behind his heart, not in those dank caverns below the streets of Paris, but in the arms of a curly-haired Swedish soprano. She had taken everything from him when she left; his music, his heart, and his very reason for living. It would have been very easy for him to have ended his miserable existence then and there, but he was not a suicidal man. If he were, long ago would he have ceased tormenting the inhabitants of this cruel world, who had tormented him. But as it were, he was unable to end his own life, regardless of the fact he had ended others; it was his punishment, he believed, meant to make him always suffer for his wrongs. He could never escape from the images that plagued his mind; only when that dear soprano was near had he ever felt some kind of peace. But now his one solace was far away in Paris, France, married to a man who had no tragic background and criminal past and would love her and take care of her like she deserved—like he could never do.

After successfully avoiding the French police and anyone who would recognize him, he escaped France and found refuge in a merchant ship going across the English Channel. England, admittedly, was not his preferred choice, but it seemed safe enough for now. But "for now" quickly turned into three long years. Upon arriving in the port, he maneuvered himself away from all peering eyes and found himself in a small, rather pathetic motel. After having to be stealthy and completely in control of himself for nearly a week since his escape, the emotion of it all crashed down on him. Sitting there on the dirty motel bed, he released all the pent up anger, frustration, jealousy, guilt, fear, and ardent love for the girl he had been holding in for far too long. It drained him, leaving him nothing but his cold, empty mind to wonder aimlessly through visions of the girl he had loved—no, still loves. He could see her so clearly, smiling with her cheeks dimpling, her beautiful brown curls cascading down her back like a serene waterfall, and her chocolate eyes boring into his mind's eye. The desire to just close his eyes and never wake up was strong; he had not eaten in days and was frankly very bad off. It was unintentionally done, and the thought that he was slowly performing what he long had desired had not even occurred to him. As his eyes began to flutter shut, more images of the soprano flooded his mind. If he closed his eyes, he would never see her again; if he closed his eyes, he would never think of her again. No, he had to stay awake. He had to… live.

Yes, he would live. He would right some of the wrongs in his past and make himself even worthy of thinking of the girl. No more hiding, stealing, and killing. No more pretending to be something he wasn't; he was a man not a ghost. Was it even possible to start all over, to make himself appear normal? The mask would remain, but perhaps people would see past it and see the man he would try to be. And even if all this failed, at least he could say he tried. That would have made her proud; Christine would have been pleased. Whatever it takes, he would turn his wretched life around.

After exchanging the few francs he had left for pounds, he moved to London, thinking that he could blend in more there in all the masses of people. Also, there had to be someone there desperate for an employee. Of course, the Londoners gave him weary glances and kept their distance for the most part, but it was better than what he expected. No one had approached him or said anything unnecessarily rude, but the feeling of being an outcast was still there. Regardless, he kept going; he searched for a job for nearly a week before he stumbled upon a desperate and dejected furniture building company who had just lost an employee to scarlet fever. Having dabbled himself in architecture, he knew he was far more than qualified for this job, proved that he was, and was readily hired. The pay was not much, but it was enough to have an apartment, food, and necessities—it was normal, far more normal than he had ever experienced.

That is how this man, Erik Butler, became a citizen of London, England, turning his life into something strikingly normal than what he had ever known—all to honor the memory of the woman he loved. The pain of being separated from her was lessened when he knew how proud of him she would be. It was worth the looks and the whispers; it was worth the poor wages and working conditions. And frankly, it was a life he never thought he could experience. Normalcy was something he had craved for so long, and it was nearly satiated now. However, this was as close to it as he would get—the final step was too unrealistic. What sane woman would ever stoop as low as to be his wife?

**(A/N) Serious note real quick. If anyone has thought about suicide, please know that you are loved and wanted!**

**Less serious note. Please review and let me know if you want to read more! I already have many chapters written, so just let me know if you want to read more!**


	2. Chapter One

**(A/N) To my reviewer, Sue, thank you for reviewing, and I'm glad you liked it! But I'm so sorry to hear about that! That must have been very hard.**

**Does anyone here know if you can directly reply to reviews? I didn't think this website would be so complicated to maneuver haha. Posting that first chapter took a few tries XD (Edit: so did this one...)**

**Also completely unrelated. But my friend bought me a fantastic Captain America dress and my life has been changed. It is retro, and I feel like Peggy. Halloween outfit? A-check.**

**Enjoy chapter one!**

**Chapter One**

He never imagined a normal life could be so mundane. How were so many people happily stuck in this status? Enough money to live, but never enough money to do anything exciting. Knowing that London had its own opera house nearly drove him mad, for he could never afford a ticket there during his first year living there. Of course, his skill in woodworking caused him to move up from a lowly assembler of the furniture to actually designing it, bringing in more money. However, he understood how important it was to save his money; living in a less-than-desirable apartment with needs for sudden and unexpected repairs had taught him that—and he thought living beneath Paris was bad. Potentially, he could have afforded a nicer apartment, but he was a man of routine and was accustomed to this apartment. After having lived under ground for so long, having natural light flood into his room each day was something he never realized he needed. There was something calming about the way the sunlight bathed his room in the morning, causing his closed eyes to flutter open. It was the best way he had ever been woken up.

After waking up and getting used to his aching back, both from leaning over sketches of furniture all day and sleeping on a half-broken mattress, he ate a meager breakfast and walked to his job, which was only few blocks from the street he lived on. From eight o'clock to four o'clock, he designed, sketched, and built replicas of his designs. He enjoyed his job; it gave him a sense of pride that something he created was being enjoyed—although he had always hoped it would be his compositions. After his shift ended, he normally went straight home, except on Thursdays when he did the little bit of shopping he needed. Walking through the streets, he encountered more than one child begging for money. At first, he ignored them, but their little grimy hands begging for a spare pound, the coughs racking their small bodies, and the look of pure desperation in their eyes reminded him all too much of himself when he was their age. Hopefully they would never experience the horrors he had faced, but their lives were still miserable. So, he found himself carrying around spare change with him to give them; the "thank you's" and toothless smiles they gave him loosened the rugged, emotionless façade he had grown to wear. His own small smile became his response to them.

Once back in the dreadfully small, two-room apartment, he changed out of his sawdust covered clothes into trousers, a white shirt, and button-up vest. The mask remained on though; even when living underground, he had hardly ever removed it. Although he lived on the third floor, the fear of someone seeing him through the window was a ridiculous but very real fear, so the mask stayed on. During the hours between getting home and eating dinner, he amused himself with reading his growing collection of books, sketching, drawing, and writing. Music, the one thing that had defined him for so long, was no longer a part of his daily routine. Before Christine, his muse had been a heartfelt love for music itself; and even though he had great skill in playing and composing, not until he met Christine did his music become something nearing unearthly. She became the only reason he played and composed. So, when his muse Christine left, she took all his desire and love for music with him, leaving a gap in his mind. It unnerved him more than he liked to admit that he felt nothing towards playing music anymore. He still held a great appreciation for it and had even forced himself to buy a mediocre violin; but he had yet to play it. Everything he had done was to make himself a better person in Christine's eyes, wanting to please her; and he knew that not playing or composing would greatly displease her—but it was just no longer inside him.

Dinner and the hours following were the hardest for him. The great weight of how utterly alone in this world he was crashed down on him each evening. He had no friends, and the only people he truly ever spoke to were the twelve people he worked with—even they would never admit to associating with him outside the walls of that company. The owners of the few stores he shopped at did not act like they had known him for three years, but they were not rude to him either. Truthfully, no one was rude to him anymore; everyone had grown accustomed to seeing him, and only small children or visitors to London gave him a second glance. It was both comfortable and annoying, for he still did not feel as if he truly held a place in their society. Not that he desired their good opinion or needed it to make himself feel good but being treated like everybody when you know you are a nobody can be maddening. He simply existed—only the small children he handed his loose change to were truly impacted by this masked man.

As much as he knew it was wrong to think like this, he could not help but dream of Christine being with him in those dark, evening hours. Whether in the aspect of the shady characters who stalked the streets at night or the aspect of making someone alone feel as if they were stranded on this earth all by themselves—London was a dreadfully harsh town at night. The sound of busy people and traffic outside his window in the daylight kept his mind from straying too deep into the emptiness in his soul, but when the sun was set, and the people were either at home or enjoying themselves, the streets were silent, unlike his mind. Tormenting himself with the thought of her keeping him company to envisioning her there as he grew even more tired, he was slowly regretting his vow to become the man she would be proud of. The torment worsened when it finally dawned on the poor man that she would never see his change. So, then what was this all for? What good was it to be a changed man when no one would ever know he was once everything but what he is now? What good was it to be someone Christine would be with when she was happily married?

After only three days of this mindset and nearly giving up everything he had worked so hard for, he came to his senses. This was not about Christine seeing his change, but of becoming the man she knew he was deep inside. She had seen it-heard it in him-when no one else was even bothering to listening. Was there someone listening now to his pleading soul for comfort and a friend? Was there someone out there just as lonely as he was? He was not so unfeeling to know there were people out there who also were suffering, but it was hard to imagine anyone knew as much misery as he did; he would not wish the way he felt upon anyone.

The worst torture was when his dreams of Christine, that for so long had been so vivid and accurate to detail, began to become vague and blurry. The dreams were still the same, but the figure was no longer recognizable as Christine. Unwilling to let go of her, he hardly wanted to sleep so he could avoid those confusing dreams, but the need for rest always won, and a vague image of a woman was all that was left. There is an all-to-overused saying that says "out of sight, out of mind," and this phenomenon was what was precisely happening to him. He began to forget what she talked like, felt like, smelled like, laughed like, but never what her singing voice sounded like. He would never allow that. But after weeks of torturous thoughts of the possibility of forgetting her completely, he realized this was natural. It was the same as when he escaped the gypsy fair for the sewers of Paris. For years, the torture he had faced while being the "Devil's Child" haunted his sleep much like the beautiful images of Christine haunted him; but after a while the nightmares came less often and the dread of being forced back into that life began to fade away, and it was replaced by the fact that he had a new life now. And now, the dreams of Christine began to morph and change into a generic longing for someone—anyone. This was his new life; one without Christine, but one that still needed someone who gave him what Christine had given him, which was joy. He had not forgotten her but had moved on; he still loved her but in a different way. No, he could never forget or stop loving her; no one can do that with someone who impacted their lives in such a way as she had his. But he had accepted that he could not be with her. He accepted that this was his life now, and he was determined to be happy. She would want him to be happy. And perhaps with a change of his outlook on life, he could heal someone who was hurting or lonely too. Perhaps there was someone who needed him as desperately as he needed someone.

**(A/N) My OC will be introduced in the next chapter! For someone who ships Erik and Christine as much as I do, I'm a sucker for an Erik/OC fic hahaha.**

**Anyways, I hope you are enjoying this story! Please review!**


	3. Chapter Two

**(A/N) Thanks, REMdream for answering my reply question! And yet… I am addressing this here instead of using your advice…**

**So, I'll take this moment to also thank you for encouraging me to post this and all the sweet things you've said about it! 3 Erik appreciates your turn of heart ;3**

**And thanks to those who have favorited and followed this story! It means a lot to me!**

**ALSO this website is completely eluding me wow. It keeps taking me more than one try to post these chapters XD**

**Chapter Two**

It was like any other day in the Sarons household, this beautiful autumn Friday night. The man of the household, Mr. Sarons, was in his parlor, smoking a cigar while reading the paper. His young son, Frederick, who would be attending boarding school the following fall, was in his own play room, pretending to be a prince or a pirate or whatever he felt like being that day. Up in her dimly lit room was Mr. Sarons niece, Julia, reading the novel she had just received from the library the previous day. Like every other evening, she was hiding in her room, throwing herself into the world in her novel, until it was time for dinner. It always pained her to leave the worlds of the really great novels only to enter the bland and sometimes frightening life outside. What was so frightening about her life was the constant threat of trying to be married off. She was content with being single, but her uncle wanted her to marry the first man he could convince. Nearly every other weekend for the past several months has brought a new suitor to meet her. She had her ways of scaring them off, which only infuriated her uncle, forcing her to not leave home for a week. Eventually, she knew she would either have to leave home and be on her own or submit and marry one of these men; but she had yet to meet one that did not have that look in his eye. That look that revealed their lustful thoughts of how beautiful of a girl she was.

And a beautiful girl she was; there is no denying that. Her strawberry blond hair reached nearly to her waist and was filled with natural waves, which curled at the ends. Set in her oval face were green eyes as bright as the leaves on the trees and full lips that were naturally a lovely shade of pink and rose up in the corners, making her smile lovely. She was taller than most women, standing around five feet and eight inches high; her shoulders were small and narrow whereas her hips were a bit curvy. She had creamy pale skin with just a hint of freckles, especially around her nose where they were the most noticeable (and she could not stand it). Her hair was always clipped back to keep the front pieces from falling into her face (while she read), while the rest of it hung freely around her shoulders. Normally, she dressed in rather plain dresses with button-up necks, for she only owned a handful of fine dresses, which she was expected to wear to the meals with the suitors and the few balls she was invited to. She rivaled the beauty of many of London's finest young ladies, and yet she was subjected to a life of staying at home most of the time to avoid further ruining the family and to marry a complete stranger.

Being the only woman in the house left her abandoned to whatever her uncle deemed best for her. Her aunt had passed away after childbirth nearly ten years ago, and she had never known her parents. As a very young baby, she was taken in by her aunt and uncle. Her Aunt Margaret had been a mother to her, and she loved her as one; but her uncle never saw her as anything but a disgrace to the family name. She was his sister's illegitimate child, and that scandal greatly disrupted the good name of the Sarons family. Sadly, he was quick to remind her that her birth had caused the family to lose many strong connections and wealthy friends, and as hard as she tried not to let it bother her, it did—greatly. That was one reason she loved reading so much; not only was it a way to preoccupy all her free time at home, but also the people in those stories had major problems like her or worse but would get a happy ending. The hope that she would get some kind of happy ending always endured, as unlikely as it seemed. If her dear aunt was still alive, she would not be making her marry some complete stranger just to get her out of the house. But she knew thinking like that would not change her situation—but, oh, how she missed that woman!

She had grown rather close to her young cousin though. Since she was nearly sixteen when he was born, she had helped raise him. He was like a little brother to her; playing with him, reading to him, and encouraging him to use and explore his imagination had helped him cope with the absence of a mother. Even though the boy hardly knew it, he saw Julia as a mother figure. The word "mother" evoked images of her in his mind; the word "father" of course evoked the image of his father, but it brought negative feelings with it. Mr. Sarons had never been the kindest man his whole life, but when his wife died in childbirth he lost what little tenderness and compassion he had. He had invested much money and care into Frederick's raising and home education, but never invested his own time and love into the child. Regardless of how wrong he knew he was, he blamed the child for the loss of his beloved wife; yet took this pain out on his niece. It was easier to be cruel to her when she already had so much baggage. Why not add more to her load? And it is easy to sit back and think how wretched of a man Mr. Sarons is, but we must remember that he is human, and humans do the most nonsensical things that make perfect sense to them. To him, finding a man even willing to marry his niece was doing all members of the party happy—the man would get a good wife, Julia would get a husband and not die an old maid (as he believed she would without his intervention), and he would be rid of the plague to his family's good name. He was not the type to be convinced by sound reasoning; he believed what he believed, and that is just the way it was going to be. His wife had been able to convince him to at least consider other opinions or ideas, but no one could tell him now that he was wrong about anything.

So, here, back in this well-furnished house was a broken family who no longer lived up to its status, performing their evening routines and waiting for dinner to be ready—and waiting for a new suitor to arrive, unbeknownst to the poor, unsuspecting man.

**(A/N) So yeah, that is Julia and her family! Re-reading it, I don't love this chapter, but I hope y'all still like it :") Also, I hope Julia doesn't come off too much as a "I'm a single woman who only needs books and no man" type of character… that is not the intention! I'm just bad at making up characters apparently XD**

**Please review! I'd love to know what you think of it so far!**


	4. Chapter Three

**(A/N) Hey, everybody! Here is a new chapter!**

**And thanks to loney for your very kind review! I'm so glad you're enjoying it!**

**In addition, thanks to my new followers! It does me ole heart good to get followers and reviews :")**

**Chapter 3**

After nearly three years of being undoubtedly the best worker at the small furniture company, Erik became the new owner after the original owner retired. Of course, he was grateful, but it felt wrong to have this position after being there the least amount of time; but none of the others seemed to care. In fact, they seemed relieved he was left with the most responsibility, and with said responsibility came more money. Yet still, he kept to the same routine and same apartment. It is hard to break from the norm when it is the only norm you have ever truly had.

So, he saved his money for nothing in particular. By no means was he a hoarder, but he had grown comfortable with his current lifestyle—despite the ever growing feeling of loneliness. (The thought of finally attending an opera occurred to him, but the thought was decidedly too painful; it would only bring up memories he was happy to forget. And besides, who attends an opera alone?) It felt nice to have consistency in his life for once; there was never an overly eventful day, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he liked knowing that tomorrow nothing strange, sudden, or potentially dangerous would come his way; a curse because some days were just too dull. He had, of course, grown use to not having anyone to talk to, but the thought of having no one still weighed on his mind heavily. He had a great job and plenty of money—yet he was perfectly unhappy. Just a friend, just anyone would do, but he had no one.

That is until he received a visitor to his office in that saw dust covered furniture company.

"Mr. Butler, I presume? Yes, you must be him!" A man in his sixties came marching into the office unannounced. Erik had never seen him, to his knowledge, yet this man seemed very familiar with him. Then again, there was only one masked man in London. He sauntered in and gestured at a nearby chair, obviously asking if he could sit, but sat down before he ever could reply.

"Yes, I am he. But I am afraid I do not know your name, sir." He sat back in his chair and began to consider the man was here for a job. But he is awfully well dressed for someone applying to a small company; and he does not look like the type to get his hands dirty.

"Richard Sarons, at your service," he slightly bowed his head, before clasping his hands together and looking around the office to avoid looking at Erik any longer. He had to force a smile in the presence of this masked freak—as he thought him to be. However, he was getting quite desperate to marry off that stubborn niece of his; and this man now owned this successful-enough company and had to be just as desperate as he was. Who would marry him by choice?

"Can I help you, Mr. Sarons?" Erik slightly raised his exposed eyebrow, quite used to people averting their eyes in his presence. Why this man was here still had him at a loss. Perhaps he did not realize he had work to do; or perhaps he wanted money.

"Are you free this Friday night, Mr. Butler? I think it to be my civil duty to get to know all the local business owners, you see. And since you have just replaced dear old Mr. Winston (an old friend of mine), I find it very proper if you would join me and my family for dinner." He put on his friendliest smile to hide the blatant lie in that offer. He would only bring up his true intentions if he began to deny his request, for he had found that not all men liked the idea of marrying the girl. Truthfully, he did not blame them; but any man in his right mind would be able to look past her questionable history once they saw her pretty face. At least, that was his opinion. Plus, he had an advantage now; it was no way this man, having been here only three years, would know everything about his niece. Perhaps he did not even know who the Sarons were, which was even better! Maybe, just maybe, this would work.

To say Erik was shocked would be an understatement. Why did this complete stranger just ask him to come to his house and eat dinner? He had to want money. What other reason was there? To befriend him? Erik mentally scoffed, but a little voice deep inside his mind suggested that maybe this man was genuine. Maybe he truly did want to get to know him; after all, most of the higher class people were friends with the higher class businessmen. Although, Erik always assumed it was more of a convenient friendship then a true one; both parties needed good connections. So that leads back to the question of what this man truly wanted. Admittedly, his curiosity was piqued. What could one social call hurt? It was the first one he had ever received; if he refused and made himself look bad, it may be the last. And what was that one thing he has been craving all these lonely years? A friend! And here was someone being friendly.

Yet why could he not shake the feeling that it went deeper than just a friendly supper. He used to be so good at reading people, but not needing to know what someone was about to do next was a skill he had less need of lately. And this man seemed genuine, but a good liar can be very convincing; Erik had personal experience in that.

He sighed. Why was he making such a big deal over this? "Yes, I am free. I should like that very much, sir." The words felt so foreign on his lips. Erik Butler, the Opera Ghost, was accepting an invitation to dinner. Inhaling sawdust must be making him go mad.

"Wonderful! Dinner is at six o'clock!" The man stood from his seat. "I am greatly looking forward to it!" He stuck out his hand, Erik stood and shook it, and the man left. What a short social call that was, he mused, before instantly regretting his acceptation. Well, he would have all week to regret it; for now, he had work to do.

**(A/N) So, I'm going to try to post once a week now. But a warning: I do not have the entire story written (or even planned yeesh), and I am in college. But I shall do my best!**


	5. Chapter Four

**(A/N) Anyone ready for my longest chapter yet? :D**

**Chapter 4**

For the first half of the week, Erik was simply too busy with his new position to even think about the weekend. However, it all came crashing down on him on Thursday night right as he was eating dinner—alone. Tomorrow night, for the first time since he was a very young child, he would be eating with others. Would this lead to finally not being alone? He doubted it, despite that nagging feeling in his chest that said something good would come of this. He did have the advantage of the Sarons not knowing anything about him and his past, so perhaps he could fake being social and pleasant for one night—or maybe it would come naturally?

"Bah! Come naturally!" He suddenly exclaimed out loud to himself. Being a monster, living his life cutthroat, was the only thing that had ever come naturally to him. Making friends was not exactly his forte; he could only befriend Christine by lying to her. No, that was no friendship; it was betrayal. A shaky sigh escaped his lips. If only he could go back…

He shoved these thoughts away and barely finished his own dinner before going to bed early. He just wanted tomorrow night to be over with already.

* * *

"Julia! Why are you wearing that?" Her uncle bellowed upon seeing his niece in a terribly plain dress. All that money he had spent on her fine gowns, and yet she insisted on looking so basic! Even though she may be a shame to the family, she did not have to dress that way.

"Because I am tired of dressing up for wretched men I could care less about!" She argued back, throwing her hands up in frustration. This game was getting old. After turning down at least a dozen men, she was getting beyond tired and frustrated. And tonight, she would have to play it all over again.

"He will be hear in thirty minutes! Go upstairs and change into that blue dress." She released an over exaggerated sigh. "Now!" Mr. Sarons added upon seeing her not make a move. Realizing that it would be easier just to appease him with at least changing, she began to make her way to the stairs.

"And what 'gentleman' am I to woo over tonight?" She called over her shoulder in her most sarcastic voice as she stopped in front of the stairs.

"You'll know soon enough. And please, Julia, actually give this one a chance. We are both getting tired of this." She looked back and saw her uncle sitting in a chair, his fingers pinching the bride of his nose. She scoffed at the sight; if he would just stop trying to set her up, then this problem would be solved.

Telling her that she still had thirty minutes was a mistake. She took her precious time getting changed into the baby blue cotton dress which cut off the shoulders. After adding her mother's pearl necklace and earrings to the look, she sat at her vanity and contemplated putting her hair up in a bun. Apparently, it was a popular hairstyle, but she preferred her hair down. So, down it stayed, with only the front pieces clipped back, like always. She still had at least fifteen minutes left; that was plenty of time to read another chapter or two before having to suffer the rest of the evening.

The sounds of voices down stairs broke her out of her reverie. So, the nightmare begins. After a weary glance at herself in the mirror and a heavy sigh, she made her way downstairs. Perhaps she could end this night early? Yes, she could scare him off quickly and then go upstairs and finish Persuasion! A wide smile formed on her lips as she entered her uncle's parlor where he entertains his guests before dinner. The smile quickly broke when she saw who her suitor for tonight was.

Had it really come to this, then?

"Ah, and here is my lovely niece now! Julia, come meet our guest for tonight, Mr. Erik Butler." Her uncle proudly introduced the man to a very shocked Julia. She could not help but stare, fixated at the white mask that covered the right side of his face. Realizing that she was staring, she quickly dropped her blushing face to look at the ground.

"It is very nice to meet you, sir," she lied, anger starting to pulse through her. Of all the men her uncle had tried to make her marry! Has she stooped so low in society to pledge herself to a masked man? And as the very thought entered her mind, she repented of it. What had this man done to receive such cruel treatment from her? He had not even spoken yet!

"An honor, Miss Sarons," he politely responded after watching that short show of her emotions. She reacted no differently than any other woman ever had, at first. But that swift change in her demeanor that he now saw confused him. Not wanting to ponder on it any longer, he turned his conversation to her uncle, to her great relief. Frederick, who had already been introduced, stood there still silently gaping at the masked man before him. Not wanting to cause a scene, Julia let him be, for she herself wanted to gape.

Of course, she knew who he was. The silent, mysterious masked man who suddenly came to London three years ago, who has now worked his way up to a man of rather high position in this small section of London. The business owners were well respected by the naturally wealthy of this society, so it came as no great shock to her that her uncle had invited him. But she knew his ulterior reasons behind the invite. Yes, Erik Butler was a single man without, as gossiped, a friend in the world. Easy prey for her uncle, she mused. And she was easy prey herself. But there was something about this masked man that shocked her; he did not stare at her with that nasty gleam in his eye. In fact, he hardly looked her way. Was this really just a social call… or was he unaware of her uncle's true intent? The latter seemed most believable.

A sigh of relief accidentally escaping her lips at the recognition this man was still in the dark as to why he was truly here, she decided to attempt to enjoy the night, maybe even get to know the man. However, as soon as the topic of marriage was mentioned, she would break her façade and show that she was in charge of her fate.

Even though she truly felt as if she were not.

* * *

As much as he would like to deny it, he rather enjoyed the meal with the Sarons. The young boy, once accustomed to the mask, was a refreshment to the man who had spent so little time amongst children. Mr. Sarons kept the conversation light and centered around things he rightfully guessed his guest would enjoy—the perfect host, really. But it was his niece that made the night enjoyable. Miss Julia Sarons had to be in her mid-twenties but retained a youthful look; only her eyes revealed she was more well versed in the griefs of this world than any young woman should be. She was beautiful, as well. Her strawberry blond hair and green eyes, frankly, captivated him. He could not help but smile at the heavy foundation she had used to cover the freckles around her nose which clearly shone through the makeup, which he thought added to her beauty. The blue dress with the top that draped off her shoulders fit her perfectly. She was a vision.

And why could he not stop looking at her and thinking that?

In all his years in London, not one woman had ever caught his eye. Of course, he was not blind and could recognize a woman was indeed beautiful. But this was more than anything he had felt in a long time. Perhaps it was because he never had the chance to sit across from the women and hold such beautiful conversations with them? Yes, that surely was it! He simply had not been around them all long enough!

But that smile- her full, rosy lips- were enough to make a shiver run through his body. Curse his years of loneliness, affecting him like this just because of a pretty and kind woman, whose voice was pure and as beautiful as a bird's.

Now one may think it strange that he could be affected so easily by this woman after his pure devotion to Christine Daaé. However, one must also remember that many, many months ago, he had relinquished her hold on himself, vowing to become a good man—just not her man. He still loved her; he always would, but that love was no longer romantic. It was easier than he expected to let go of the only woman- the only person- he had ever truly loved, for she was a married woman now. Harboring feelings for a wife, who perhaps was even a mother—even he knew that was obsessive. It took a long time, but time healed the gaping feeling in his chest, but never fully; he never expected to regain the heart she had stolen away that night in the cellars of the opera house. The fact remained that she was the only person in the world he truly cared about. Thoughts of what could have been sneaked into his mind often, but had she not asked him to always remember her? To always think of her? She was still his angel; no other pretty face could ever change that fact. But he had moved on from his ardent love and obsession of her.

The sudden realization that he had free rule over his affections once again hit him hard as soon as he left the household of the Sarons, invited to come back next weekend. A contented smile formed on his lips as he realized he would be able to speak to Julia again.

* * *

A dejected sigh escaped her lips as soon as she was in her room. The evening had gone well—too well. Not a word of her uncle's intentions was voiced, much to her relief and concern. She had absolutely no reason to force him away, and shockingly, she did not want to. The man intrigued her and treated her as an equal, something a man had never done to her before. His blue-green eyes were so gentle when they looked at her, not at all showing any of the lustful thoughts that she was so accustomed to from men. He was a complete gentleman and had been incredibly friendly to her.

Despite the mask, she found him handsome. The left side of his face revealed tan skin and a square jaw. His dark hair contrasted the white mask so unnaturally, yet it added to his mysterious façade. He was tall, probably six feet two inches, and was very broad and fit. The well-tailored suit showed off his physique quite well, and it proved he was not merely a designer for furniture—what artist had such refined muscles?

She felt herself blush at such thoughts and mentally scolded herself as she sat at her vanity, taking the pin out of the back of her hair to let the few pieces it held fall freely and frame her face. She sighed at the face she saw in the mirror, a face that had just flushed at a sudden thought.

What if this man was her way out?

**(A/N) I hope everyone enjoyed this! To be honest, I didn't feel like posting because I'm sick and rather sleepy, but here it is!**

**Anyone who can spot the Imagine Dragons reference wins a cookie!**

**Also is my sudden switch in POV weird? I go from one point to omniscient with like no warning? I try to limit it, but it happens sometimes ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter 5**

"Good evening, sir! Please, let me take your coat! It's getting quite chilly, is it not? I daresay we will see snow soon!" Mr. Sarons prattled on and on as Erik once again adjusted to the strange feeling of being in someone's home. The week had dragged on, seeming to last far longer than seven days. What was the cause behind such restlessness? He had not felt this way in so long; but then he saw Miss Sarons as he entered the parlor. All tension fled his body. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. A peach gown now graced her slim figure, and it matched her hair so well. She looked up from the book in her lap and smiled prettily at him.

There went that shiver again.

"Good evening, Mr. Butler," Julia rose from her seat, making sure to bookmark her page before setting the novel down.

"What are you reading?" He asked, desperate for anything to take his mind off her creamy colored skin that seemed paler than last time beside the light color of the dress.

"Persuasion by Jane Austen." Never had a man inquired into her love of reading. "Do you read, sir?" Her head tilted ever so slightly to the left, observing this man again under a calm gaze. He wished to know her thoughts desperately—or perhaps he did not.

"Yes, in my spare time. I am afraid I have yet to read Austen, though." He smiled, knowing that Jane Austen's novels were mostly enjoyed by women. She caught his lighthearted remark and smiled in return. Before she could delve into dozens of questions concerning his favorite books and authors, dinner was announced to be complete.

The evening went just as well as it had last week, perhaps better, not unnoticed by Mr. Sarons. He silently praised himself on the match then cursed himself that it was the masked freak. Of course, that is who his niece would take a fancy to. But it did not mean much to him; as soon as she was out of his hair, the better. Perhaps then he could return to the high society he so desperately missed; perhaps then they would accept him once more. Old friends who had disowned them, perhaps they would be able to look past his sister's foolishness without the product of it staring at them. Yes, it did not matter who it was; just as long Julia was gone. One more dinner, and he would ask the man if he would be interested in marrying his niece. He had no doubt the man would accept, and he even felt confident Julia would finally consent. If only it had been someone more suitable…

The week passed, and of course at the end of it they would all be united once again around the dinner table. Erik wondered if he should not bring something as a thank you; Julia wondered how she would ask the man to follow through with the plan she had been formulating. Mr. Sarons relished in the thought a wedding would soon occur, and poor, unaware Frederick wondered why the same man kept coming to dinner, unlike the others.

Friday soon became such an important and scary day for Julia, that she could hardly read. She only had a few more days of this life, if Erik Butler agreed, that is. And she was uncertain of how she wanted him to respond. Being freed from her cage was not a bad thing to her; but being a married woman, never having the chance to fall in love like the people in her books—that seemed a bad thing. But what choice did she have? Run away, and bring her family even more shame? No, that was not an option. And reason had never convinced her uncle before, so it would not work now. She had to marry.

And she finally found a man she could stomach the thought of being pledged to.

Dinner ended, and as the maids took the plates away and Frederick was asked by his father to leave, Julia knew it was time.

"Mr. Butler, it is so lovely this evening, and you have yet to see our gardens. Should you care to join me to see them?" Her cheeks reddened, ignoring the fact she had rehearsed that question in her mind a hundred times. She had to ask him before her uncle did; he had to see it from her perspective.

Taken back by this question, Erik muttered a quick "yes, thank you" before rising to get his and the lady's cloaks. It was a brisk October night, and he would never risk the woman catching a cold. He wore a cape more because it was expected than warmth; living underground gets one accustomed to the frigid cold. Hesitatingly draping it around her lavender clad shoulders, his fingers brushed against her loose hair. He marveled that the woman permitted him to get so close and did not shrink away. No, he was only met with a warm smile. This woman would be his undoing.

A safe foot apart, the awkward couple walked through the well-kept garden, silently admiring the few plants that survived the frost. Not a word was said. Erik did not want to break the wonderful silence; Julia did not want to ask him her selfish question. Reaching the end of the garden, she sat down on a bench facing a small fountain with a lovely statue of a cherub perched on top of it. She sighed louder than she meant to, and he heard it.

"Is something troubling you, Miss Sarons? You have been very quiet this evening." She is growing tired of you, you fool! He mentally deprecated himself before her head turned to look at him. The moon shone brightly tonight, so he could clearly see the look of desperation on her face.

"Please, sit," she whispered, patting the spot beside her.

"Why do we not go inside? I do not want you-"

"No!" She cried, grabbing his arm. "Here," she added in a softer tone, "We must speak here."

Hesitantly, he sat beside the woman who froze at the touch of his cape against her arms. A weighty moment of silence reigned between the two before another loud sigh escaped Julia's lips.

"You must know, Mr. Butler, a few things about me to understand what I am to soon ask you." She started, now fixating her eyes on the cherub, saying a silent prayer to the heavens to help her. "The Sarons were once a very well-respected family; they associated with lords and dukes and barons, until my mother made a dreadful mistake that dragged down the family name with her." Unwilling to admit what—or who—that mistake was, she took a shaky breath and continued. "Because of the shame she brought my family, it has proven… difficult for me to find a husband. My uncle over the past few months has grown weary of me, for I am nothing more than another mouth to feed, so he has tried to find someone for me to marry. But I consider myself an honorable woman, so I would not stoop to marry a man whose intentions were not pure." She stopped, feeling the man shift in his seat, sensing his realization that he was one of the men her uncle had found. "I assume you were… unaware of my uncle's true intentions?" All she received was a nod, as the man also was fixated on the cherub in front of them. "I had every intention of denying you, but when we met, I sensed something different in you from all the others. Mr. Butler, you're the first man to ever treat me with as much respect as you have." At this he looked at her, an appalled look on his face.

"What are you getting at?" He asked, his eyes now staring into hers, searching them for answers.

"He wants me to marry, and if not you, then another. And, frankly, you're the first man I have ever even considered." The words fell from her lips so naturally, it shocked her. She continued, "You are a single man?"

"Well, of course I am!" He nearly hissed, quickly standing to his feet. "Most women do not fling themselves at a masked man!" He turned his back and walked closer to the fountain, thoughts of what she was proposing warring in his mind against his common sense and loneliness.

Julia rose in turn, "Please, sir, I meant no offense." She pleaded, noticing this conversation was taking a turn for the worse. "Whatever your reasons are for wearing it are your own. I do not judge you," she added, more confidently than she was feeling. Frankly, she thought it was some weird habit of his, wearing the mask. Either that or he was trying to hide his identity; but why would he only cover half his face then?

Taking a shaky breath, Erik continued, "I do not think any of this conversation would have occurred—no, I would not even be here—if you knew why I wore it." His tone was solemn and desolate, and for the first time she realized he was a broken man. Did she want to know what was behind the mask? Did she want to bind herself to this man she did not know? Second thoughts crossed her mind until she once again confirmed in her mind he was her only choice.

"Then show me," she replied, as reverent as a vow, her mind determined. He turned on his heel and paced towards her, his eyes glowing with rage.

"You foolish girl! You do now know what you ask!" He fumed, his body tense with what she read as fear. It could not possibly be as bad as he claimed… could it?

"Fine then! Do not show me! Just please, Mr. Butler, I am not asking you to love me; I'm not even asking you to like me! I just need you to help me!" Against her will, she burst into tears, the pressure of it all crashing down on her. She wanted to get away—she needed to get away. And now, she saw that this man also needed something; she was not sure yet what it was though.

He looked at the crying woman, unsure as to what to say. So, she wanted him to marry her out of convenience, then. It made sense; what other reason was there? Because she loved him? She did not know him; she knew nothing of what he had done. His mind hated himself for allowing himself to deprecate himself and remind himself of his past. His mind also hated him for throwing away a chance to end his years of solitude.

Regardless if it was a false companionship.

He released a deep sigh and held a handkerchief to the sobbing woman. She took it, her eyes trying to read his but unable to. "You must understand something, Miss Sarons; I have been through more than I should ever like to burden you with. You are clearly desperate to leave, but I am not so certain it is I who should help you." He turned to walk back down the path but was stopped by her shaky voice.

"Whether you acknowledge it or not, sir, I do like your company. The past men my uncle have brought, I have not even tolerated them. By no means am I comparing you to them; you are more of a gentleman than all of those men combined." She heard him scoff but continued. "If you do not help me, I shall be forced into marrying a man I do not even care for. And… perhaps that means nothing to you… I do not see why it should," her voice wavered as he turned to face her.

"Yet you are willing to marry a man that is still a complete stranger to you. How is that any different than marrying any of those other men?" He stayed in his spot, thankful for his good night vision and the full moon shining around them so he could see her clearly.

"I feel… comfortable around you." A deep sadness took over her emotions as she dropped her head to the ground. "I am sorry; it was selfish of me to ask this of you. I promise you shall never here from us-"

"Give me three days to think about it." Erik interrupted her, holding his hand up to indicate the conversation was over. She closed her lips tight as she followed the masked man back to her house.

What had she truly gotten herself into?

**(A/N) Oh, Erik. Why must you be so angsty and defensive? But really, I imagine it would be pretty insulting to be told, "Hey, you're single and I see you as the human version of a Monopoly 'get out of jail free' card, so why don't you marry me!"**

**I have a fun fact for you peoples! So, when I first started this story sometime in the summer, I did not come up with a name for it because I'm awful at titles. Thus, I gave it the placeholder name "Insert Title Here." And I didn't come up with the name Convenience until I was posting it here. In fact, it still remains "Insert Title Here" on my laptop!**

**Dearest readers, please leave a review and let me know what you think! It can be about Erik, Julia, the weather, all three combined—I'm not picky ;D**

**I would love to hear from you!**


	7. Chapter Six

**(A/N) Hello, readers! Here is the next chapter! I hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 6**

Erik normally took a cab to and from the Sarons' household, but tonight he wanted to walk. Something about the darkness was a comfort to him, like a blanket that a child refuses to sleep without. Foolish for the child to cling to a scrap of material as if it truly held refuge and safety; foolish for a grown man to feel safest and at home when in the blackness of the night.

But darkness was all he had known for so long. He remembered as a child, fearing what he could not see lurking in the shadows, fearing the blackness would swallow him up. And it did; he had let it. Killing the man who beat him for money was the first step into the cold embrace of darkness, and after that, the embrace only became tighter and even more unfeeling. But it was the only comfort he had felt in his short life until that little ballerina took his hand and led him to what would become his domain. Back then he saw it as a favor, the kindest thing anyone had done to him. Now, he was not so certain if her leaving him there for the police to capture him would not have been better. Lives would have been spared; peaceful existences kept intact. Christine would have never learned music, but she would have never learned about the darkness. He had taught that to her as well.

He regretted everything—he sometimes even regretted falling in love with the girl. He once justified his murders; now he saw them as what they truly were—monstrous acts for his benefit. And that poor, sweet, innocent girl… Christine did not deserve any of what he did to her.

But he was trying to right some of the past; he was trying to become a better man. He could never make up for the murders, but the lying and stealing were easily mended. And the selfishness—did he not give his money to the poor street urchins? Was that not a good deed?

It was, but it was not enough. Nothing was enough; nothing would ever be enough to fill the gaping hole inside of him.

And then Julia Sarons flashed through his mind.

She had treated him like any other man, talked to him like any other. Just being near her was like a tonic, giving him a sense of what he had felt when with Christine—but he had not tricked her into this. No, she knew what she was doing; she was mistress of her actions. And she had offered him the one thing he had been deprived of for so long—companionship.

He had tried to frighten her off and failed; he could not help but smile upon reflection that she was the first person to stand up to him in such a way. She knew not that she was up against the former Opera Ghost, and frankly, he would like to keep it that way.

What if this was not such a bad thing? True, it was for convenience on really both their parts—for her to escape an unwanted marriage and for him to escape loneliness—but are those such bad reasons? People have married for far less.

Could he really do that to her, though? Let her marry him, blind to all the wretched things he had done—blind to his very face? Everything about it felt wrong, yet why could he not just say no?

"Because you're desperate," he muttered into the empty night, stopping in front of the shack of an apartment building he lived in. He looked up the third story where his room was and let out a deep sigh.

"_I want a home, like everybody else. With a wife inside! A wife to take out on Sundays!_" The words echoed in his head like a ghost's voice. The sad truth was that was still his dream, regardless of how unrealistic it had felt for so long. Yet now, he was one word away from it.

Pushing the thoughts away like they were physical, he made his way into his small apartment and settled into a shallow, restless sleep. Not until his three days were up would he feel any semblance of peace.

* * *

Sitting with his elbows propped on the table with his hands framing his face, Erik struggled to stay awake. Last night had left him with too much to think about to sleep well. He used to be able to manage with minimal amounts of sleep, but he had lost that ability over the past three years, having to have a normal routine. Never one for coffee, he had found himself drinking nearly four glasses in the few hours he had been awake. "That woman truly will be the end of me," he groaned, slumping back into his seat to look at the piles of paper on his desk. Since he was the owner now, he deemed that he could afford to push aside the work for today. While pouring himself another cup of coffee—now cold—a sharp knock on the door caused him to spill some onto his crisp white sleeve. "Fantastic," he murmured as the knocking continued. "Come in," he replied far angrier than he meant to.

In came Mr. Sarons, a wide smile spread across his face. "Mr. Butler! I hope you've had a good morning!" Seeing the disheveled man before him, he faltered for a second. The man was only in his shirt sleeves, which was in desperate need of ironing, and trousers. His hair was messy and dark circles were under his eyes. He chose to ignore the leer the man was giving him. Clearing his throat, he continued, "I came here to speak with you about something, since you left in such a hurry last night." He tugged at his collar, a nervous feeling entering his body.

Erik immediately straightened; he knew what this was about. "Of course, sit down, sir." He motioned towards the chair opposite his desk, both taking their respective seats. Erik uneasily settled back, hoping this would be over quickly.

"Well, you see, Mr. Butler, I cannot help but notice how well you and my niece get along." Noticing no change in Erik's demeanor, he kept talking. "And she is of marrying age."

"My goodness, getting straight to it," Erik mused, a twinge of pity for Julia going through him. So, this is what she has had to deal with—and continue to deal with if he did not accept.

"I cannot offer much for dowry, you see. Only fifty pounds a year, but—"

"That is an insult to her!" Erik accidentally thought aloud. His hands clenched together as he stared at this man before him, trying to auction his niece off to the first bidder. "She is worth more than that," he managed to keep that thought inside.

"Well, times are hard, sir! And I am sure you are more than capable of taking care of her," he nervously laughed, motioning around the office. His fake laughter subsided when he saw the man's face. No, he could not lose another suitor for Julia. This was it. "What she lacks monetarily, you must admit she makes up for in beauty!"

"Make your reason for this visit clear, Mr. Sarons," Erik demanded through a clenched jaw. He was beyond furious with this presumptuous man; no wonder Julia wanted to escape. And she had asked him for help…

"Will you marry Julia?" The man asked, his chin held high, aggravated by the treatment he was receiving from this masked freak.

"Yes."

**(A/N) First thing, so the italicized line is loosely a quotation from the original Phantom of the Opera novel by Gaston Leroux. I did not quote it word for word, but credit goes to him. Also, I should add here that this fic is based completely off of the 2004 movie... did I ever say that? I only included the Leroux line because it fit well in the story.**

**Second thing, I should admit I did like no research for this fic. I'm going off what I think it was like in the 1870s. So, all you history buffs, I'm sorry; I'm just really tired of research papers XD I do this for fun, and although historical accuracy would be great, it would take a lot of the fun out of it for me. So, the line about Julia's dowry being 50 pounds... yeah I have no idea how accurate that is. I actually did try to figure out if dowry still existed and what the amounts would have been! I did try! But whether I succeeded, well, that is another story (~_~)**

**Third thing, when Erik thinks Julia is worth more than 50 pounds, please don't take that as he is saying she is worth more money! Like, that is not how I mean it! He is just upset that her uncle is basically trying to "sell" her for hardly anything. Like, he could definitely give more money, but he is just trying to get rid of her. Erik does not like her because money; I just want to make that clear XD**

**Fourth and final thing, please let me know if you are enjoying this story! It would mean the absolute world to me! :3**


	8. Chapter Seven

**(A/N) I'M BACK, BABY! Wow, my life has been incredibly busy these past few weeks! My wifi crashed, school has taken a lot of time, my personal and social lives have called for my attention! BUT HERE I AM. I hope you enjoy this new chapter! **

**And thanks to all the new readers, reviewers, and followers!**

**Chapter 7**

The wedding would be in a week, Saturday, October 25th. That is all that was really decided before Mr. Sarons left, for Erik suggested Julia should be involved in it as well. Although, he mainly wanted to make sure she still wanted to do this before too much was decided. Why should he get his hopes up if she were only going to change her mind?

As soon as Erik was left alone, he released a long held in sigh. What had just happened? Had he really just agreed to marrying her?! He wanted to feel mad; he wanted to feel uncomfortable. But he felt nothing; not in an empty way, but in a peaceful way. The peace quickly became replaced with anxiety. If she went through with this, how long could they play this game? Hearts were a fragile thing; he did not even have a heart for her to break. This would end badly, like everything else in his life. And eventually… she would want to see his face.

He abruptly pushed his chair away from his desk as if it were on fire. He stood from the chair, grabbed his suit coat, and left the stifling office, desperate for fresh air. His apartment was only a short walking distance from where he worked—too short today. He felt like he arrived in that tiny room in record time. After pacing for several minutes, he sunk into the one comfortable piece of furniture he owned, his armchair. He let out a groan as he realized one decent piece of furniture was not going to work for two people; an even louder groan escaped his mouth when he realized this entire apartment would not work for two people. The last thing he could do was bring her here.

Was he honestly going to have to buy a house?

"At least see if she wants to still marry you!" He huffed to himself as he not-so-comfortably settled deeper into the chair. But he knew she would still go on with this absurd plan; a woman as desperate and determined as she was last night knew what she was doing. He felt like he should be happy his years of solitude would end in a week, but he was not—he was not mad about it either. His only wish was that the circumstances were different; he only wished she actually loved him.

"Good news, my dear!" Mr. Sarons triumphantly called out to his niece as he barged into the parlor where she sat, lost in her thoughts and not the novel in her lap. The sudden intrusion drew her attention to her uncle's beaming face. Her brow furrowed as his smile widened. "You're getting married!"

She quickly stood up, letting the poor book fall crumpled to the ground. "To whom dare I ask!?" After the way Erik hastily—and not so politely—left last night, she hardly believed her uncle would further bother him. After all, Erik had never shown much romantic interest in her.

"Erik Butler, of course!" He laughed heartily as if this was one big joke—maybe it was. Her face paled, and her uncle read into it. "You are unhappy with this?" As if he really cared.

"No!" She quickly proclaimed, afraid to lose her chance of freedom. "No, not at all! I-I am just speechless!" She added what she assumed was a gleeful laugh a woman would make after becoming engaged. But in truth, she wanted to cry; not tears of sadness, but tears of absolute relief. She was nearly confident Mr. Butler would refuse to help her.

"Good! I'm confident he will make you happy! He will come here tomorrow to discuss wedding plans; he insisted you be involved!" He laughed as if the very idea was absurd. She could not suppress the blush that creeped onto her cheeks. He had truly insisted she be involved?

The day went by so slowly as she both dreaded and could not wait for the next day. She felt awful how relieved she was that in a week she would be married. Pure relief was all she felt about marrying a complete stranger that she did not love and who did not love her. At least she wanted this though; she felt incredibly lucky at how this all was ending. Months of torture and suitors were now ending; it was no fairytale happy ending, but it was not a tragedy ending either—at least she hoped it was not.

Sleep came easier than it had for her in many months, and suddenly it was morning. Having never felt the need to make herself look anything past presentable, she now found herself dressing in one of her nicest gowns, trying to hide her freckled nose, putting her hair up in a bun, and pinching her cheeks to give them a rosy color. Was she trying to impress him? She hardly knew herself; it just felt like the right thing to do. She could not stifle a sarcastic laugh as she saw her red cheeks—the perfect blushing bride.

Breakfast was unusually quiet, for Mr. Sarons had told his son of Julia's marriage, and he was not taking it very well. The poor child sat there with tears pooling in his eyes, refusing to let them fall. It took any bit of joy Julia had away, watching the poor child who would be left with just his poor excuse of a father.

"Stop that, Frederick, you are acting like a baby!" His father scolded as he folded his newspaper shut and slammed it on the table.

"Please, Uncle! Let him be upset." Julia rose from her seat and asked her young cousin to follow her. She took his hand and walked out into the garden, sitting him down on the same bench she and Erik shared last night. "Now, tell me what all these tears are for." She smiled gently, wiping away the few that had finally slid down Frederick's cheeks.

"I'm never going to see you again," he sniffed, focusing intently on a nearby shrub.

"That's not true! I am still going to live in London! I can come see you, and you can come see me!" She smiled warmly as the boy looked up at her.

"But what about once I go to boarding school?"

"I will still see you on holidays! And maybe I could come visit you?" She knew that was an empty promise, figuring her fiancé would be less than willing to go visit some boarding school out in the country. But she had always been weak to his tears. She quickly wrapped him in a hug and kissed his head, suddenly realizing how much she would miss him. They had always been very close since she helped raise him, and now the realization of how much everything was about to change sunk in. Biting back her own tears, she drew back from him and stood to go back inside.

"Miss Sarons, your uncle asked me to come get you and Frederick." Erik's overly calm voice broke the sad silence of the two cousins.

**(A/N) I do not love this chapter. I feel like it's constantly contradicting how Erik feels… but eh this is as good as it's getting XD**

**Also, October 25th of 1873 was indeed a Saturday, fun fact!**

**And I should add that I'm undecided as to how much Frederick will actually be in this fic. I'm awful at writing for kids XD**


	9. Chapter Eight

**(A/N) Wow... It has been so long since I updated and I'm sorry! D":**

**But thanks to all the new followers and reviewers! I can't even express how happy it makes me to get those notifications!**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Chapter 8**

Julia turned to look at him, frustrated he would see her out here nearly crying with her upset cousin. Of course, this is how she would see him again; why was she so intent on making a good, lasting impression though?

Pushing aside those thoughts, she walked over to him. "Good morning, Mr. Butler." Should she call him her fiancé? Should she ask why he agreed to marry her? Or should she pretend this was like any other marriage between two people who have courted for months? That last option seemed impossible.

"Good morning," he responded, now looking entirely uncomfortable, having finally noticed the tear-filled eyes. Naturally, he blamed himself as the cause for their tears, but he was not entirely wrong in that assumption. He was already regretting this tremendously.

"Frederick," Julia turned to the boy who was still sniffling. "Go on inside; I should like to speak with Mr. Butler for a moment." She softly ruffled the boy's hair before he ran off, leaving the newly engaged couple to awkwardly stand there. Once he was out of sight, she asked the impending question, "Why did you do it?"

He looked into her emerald eyes, expecting to see malice or aggravation, but he only saw peace. She was glad he did it. He released the breath he did not know he was holding. "It will be mutually beneficial to us both." He said with a hint of indifference as he messed with his glove.

"You speak as if this is a business deal!" She huffed, annoyed at his nonchalance on such an important issue. Where was the overly defensive man she talked to the other night? What had happened in those two days to make him so calm about the situation?

But she was very wrong; Erik Butler was anything but calm at this moment. He had reverted to his old ways of feigning non-interest in everything to keep himself safe, and he was excellent at it. He had lost control over his emotions the night before last, and he was not going to let that happen again. "Is it so different from a business deal? You need an escape route, and I need companionship. Both parties are satisfied." His voice stayed calm, but she saw a flash of something in his eyes, yet she was still unable to read this man.

She sighed, suddenly realizing how foolish it was to try to please him. This man seemed so heartless at times—and she was not wrong. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Regardless of your motives, thank you." She reached out to place her hand on his arm, but he recoiled like she was a snake. Noting the obvious hurt look in her eyes, he quickly recovered.

"Shall we go inside? We have much to discuss." But his voice had lost its strength.

* * *

Neither Julia nor Erik were quite prepared for everything that needed to be done in the next week. Rings, a house, and a dress needed to be purchased; an officiant willing to do such a sudden service had to be found; and the marriage license had to be applied for—all in six days. It was madness in the Sarons's household, and it was madness in Erik's mind.

He tried to push the reality of the situation away, but with each purchase, each day, it was shoved to the forefront of his mind. Being unable to find a house to buy, he had to settle with renting. It was a nice house, though; it had more than enough room for two people, but it still felt comfortable. Unfortunately, it was sparsely furnished; whoever had lived here had only left the big things like beds and the dining room table and chairs. One small couch would be the only other parlor furniture to go with his one armchair and bookcase.

Sitting on the half-broken bed of his apartment for what would be one of the last times, he fiddled with the ring in his hand. Not the two golden bands he had purchased that morning, but the silver, diamond ring that was worth more money than the entire apartment building he lived in. He ran his fingers over the diamond studded front before he thumbed the inside of the band, feeling the dent of an engraving. The words were etched in his mind like they were etched on this ring. _To my Little Lotte, my One Love._

Why had he kept this blatant reminder of his past, he could not tell. It felt wrong to throw away the one thing she had ever willing gave him. She gave her voice and her mind blindly, which she admitted herself; she gave that kiss in pity and fear, but this ring? Christine gave it to him for remembrance. She would always have her voice to remember him with; he would always have this ring. He could still see her chocolate-brown eyes filling with tears as she closed his hand around the ring—around her hand too. He had just told her he loved her; a flicker of hope pulsed through him as she walked closer, as she stopped just in front of him—all to give him a ring, a ring he had stolen from her.

He clenched it in his fist, letting it leave its indent on his palm, before sighing and loosening his grasp. He had always wondered what it would be like to give a woman a ring, to slip it onto her dainty finger and watch her smile gleefully as she raised it to her face to look at it closer. He would get the satisfaction of slipping a ring on a woman's finger, but he would not be rewarded with a smile.

* * *

"What sort of dress are you looking for, miss? A day dress, ballgown, or perhaps one of our newest fashions from Paris?" The store clerk eagerly listed almost as soon as Julia entered the building.

"No, something that would work well for a wedding, please," she replied, tugging on her gloves awkwardly, trying to push the thoughts of going on this shopping trip alone away. This is what a mother and sisters and dear friends should be doing with her—but she had no one.

"Are you family of the bride or groom?" The clerk smiled, leading the woman to a rack of dresses.

"I… I am the bride," she nervously smiled, that being the first time she referred to herself as such. She was not certain she liked the way the word sounded on her lips, but it was better to be the bride of a man like Erik than any of the other men.

"Oh! Well, congratulations! But, I am afraid we do not have many white dresses." The clerk smiled forcefully, wondering why this woman looked so sad, was alone, and was here when down the block was a famous wedding dress shop in London. Ever since the marriage of Queen Victoria when she wore a white gown, white wedding dresses had become almost the new norm. A regular shop like this one did not feel the need to stock wedding dresses though; it was London, and there were plenty of specialty shops to choose from.

"That is fine; I do not want a white one," she responded before fingering a beautiful green dress—an unlucky color.

"Ah, something more versatile then," the clerk smiled, now thinking the woman was just trying to save her money. "What about a blue dress? That is a popular choice."

Blue, a symbol of purity; no, that would not work either. White and blue were not colors fitting for someone born out of wedlock—that is what her uncle said. How could a woman born from impurity be stainless now? They were not an overly religious family, but from the way her uncle acted, one would think he was a vicar.

"No, I am fonder of the color purple. Lavender, perhaps? Or maybe red?" As long as it fit her and seemed appropriate, she would be content.

**(A/N) I actually did research that stuff about wedding dresses! I thought it was interesting :3**

**And am I alone in envisioning Christine's engagement ring as being engraved? And Erik going to it for solace sometimes?**

**I think about Phantom stuff too deeply XD**


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter 9**

Never had a week gone by so quickly in her life. Getting everything prepared was exhausting, and by Friday night she was longing to sleep in the next day. However, the wedding was at ten in the morning.

"Twelve more hours," Julia muttered to herself, not meaning to say it out loud. "I've stooped to speaking to myself!" She huffed, flinging her arms out across the bed she was lying on—the last time she would sleep here, the bed she has slept on her entire life. And this room, oh, so much has happened in this room! How many times had she cried, laughed, smiled in this room? Her dear aunt would sing her lullabies in here when she had nightmares, and she would stay with her during thunderstorms. In this room, she used to dream of travelling; she used to fret over an arranged marriage here as well. And now, she was twelve hours away from being forever committed to a man whose entire face she had not even seen yet.

She wanted to cry, but she was still too grateful to be leaving this house. If only she could take her room with her. She wondered what her new house would be like…

Erik had told her about the house in one of the few times they had not been planning for the sudden wedding. She was unsure about living in a rented house, but she was glad he was not making her live in the apartment building he apparently had been living in. The house was on the outskirts of London where it was less crowded, and she imagined he wanted the privacy. He was most certainly a private man; even all those conversations at dinner, he had kept it formal. In the few weeks she has known him, she felt like she had learned nothing of consequence about him. He liked books, and he was an architect—that was as deep as her knowledge about him went. From that first discussion in the garden, she gathered that his face was obviously hidden for a reason. A burn, perhaps? A terrible scar? She could not even fathom why someone would willingly wear a mask all the time, and she wondered if she would ever know why.

Deciding that rest was more important than questions that did not matter, she fell asleep. When sunlight shined through her curtains into her eyes, waking her, it felt like any other day. Not until she had emerged from the washroom and back into her room did it dawn on her, for she saw her wedding dress hanging on the closet. Tears rushed to her eyes, stinging them, and her legs felt shaky.

"No! I won't cry on my wedding day!" She sobbed, tears streaming down her face. Burying her eyes in her wrists, she finally let it all out. These tears were inevitable, and she realized she should have let them out sooner. She dropped to the floor and cried into the side of her bed until there were no tears left. Other than the headache throbbing at her forehead, she felt better. This was better than losing control while walking down the aisle, she decided. What would her future husband think of her crying like a child? He would probably end the engagement right away, not wanting to have to deal with a temperamental woman. No, she could not afford that! She could not lose him, could not lose her freedom! If entering such an unconventional marriage is considered freedom…

* * *

Sleep was the last thing on Erik's mind; in twelve hours he would be married to a woman he barely knew. He wanted to be excited, relieved, or something positive! But he only felt afraid; the peaceful feeling of finally not being alone was gone. Fear replaced every happy emotion as soon as he realized she would want to know the truth about him. She would want to know about the mask, she would want to know about his past, and she would want to know why he came to London. He knew she was incredibly smart and that she would detect any lies; he also knew he could not avoid such questions forever. The entire situation made him wish he had never come to London; certainly there were no desperate females in America!

But he of all people knew life was difficult; this was the least difficult thing that had ever happened to him, yet he still felt like he was going mad. A restless sleep overtook him, regardless of how badly he wanted to stay awake and think things through. But the next thing he knew, sunlight was trickling through the window into his eyes. Never had he disliked the sun so much.

He was to go to Julia's house, and they would all go to the small chapel together. Donning his new suit, which was a shade or two lighter than his dreary black suits, he tried to push all thoughts about the wedding from his head. By this point, it was inevitable; he could not back out of it now. That was not a very reassuring thought, but it did keep him getting ready. Once dressed, he picked up the mask. Putting it on was second nature to him; wearing the mask was like wearing a shirt. But looking at it now, he felt bitter resentment to wearing it. This was _his_ wedding day, and he still had to hide behind a piece of leather. He knew it was absurd to be upset by this, but that did not lessen his anger. In truth, he knew he was only so upset because the woman that was to be his wife in a matter of hours had not even seen his face.

He had considered showing her his face some time during the week of their short engagement, but he found himself completely unable to make himself vulnerable again. She had asked to see it that night in the garden, and he refused. He did not want to hear another cry or scream caused by his face; he did not want to be pitied for something he had no say in. He was beyond tired of being treated differently and showing Julia his face was sure to cause just that. Honestly, he believed her desperate enough to still marry him, but he did want to be subject to any fear or pity she may hold for him. Resentment from her for not showing his face was better than pity. Anything was better than pity.

With a shaky sigh, he placed the mask over his deformity. This would be his last few moments of solitude, and strangely he wanted to relish in them; after all, having been alone for thirty plus years and then abruptly ending that solitude was strange. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes before berating himself for enjoying being alone. Grabbing the rings, he forced himself out the apartment building and into a cab.


	11. Chapter Ten

**(A/N) ****First off, I'd like to apologize for how long I have put off updating. I do not really have an excuse ._.**

**But I hope you enjoy, and I will try not to wait so long again to update!**

**Chapter 10**

Julia always imagined her wedding day to be quite different: a lovely wedding with friends and family, a husband she adored more than life itself, a quaint country house surrounded by daisies, her husband carrying her over the threshold, and them both enjoying every second of marital bliss—yet somehow, none of that came true.

There were family, a husband, a house, a threshold, and perhaps relief, if that could count as marital bliss—all the factors were there, yet none of them added up to what her mind had equated as a child. Instead, she found herself pledging her life, love, and loyalty to a man she barely knew, joined by her uncle, cousin, the officiant's wife, and one of Erik's workers to serve as a witness. He did not carry her over the threshold, nor did she really want him too, and as soon as she was shown to her room, she began to unpack her things, her husband nowhere in sight.

_Her husband._

What an odd thought to think of herself as Mrs. Julia Butler, yet that is certainly what she had signed onto the marriage certificate. Erik being the Mr. Butler was an even odder thought. She was not upset by that; rather, she was quite relieved. But they remained odd thoughts nonetheless. She decided slipping out of her red wedding gown and into something comfier was the next course of action, but after that, her mind blanked.

* * *

"Red. She chose red." Was Erik's first thought when he saw her upon entering the Sarons's household. "Fitting. My living bride is dressed as the Red Death." He mentally scoffed as he said his good morning's to his soon to be wife and in-laws.

"Why had she chosen red?" Was his thought as he led his now-wife to her room. It did nothing for her complexion or hair color; although it did pair with her eyes well. Why not white, blue, purple, pink, or _white_? Could anything about this day be salvaged as normal? The ceremony, perhaps, but that was to be expected when it was a traditional Anglican wedding. Not much can be changed about such ceremonies. Thank goodness for that; perhaps the day was saved after all!

He let out a deep sigh as soon as she shut the door practically in his face; he thought, or rather hoped, it was not intentionally rude. No, certainly she was just as uncomfortable as he was; if not more—were that possible. So, what did a husband do next? Invite her to tea? Make her supper? Kiss her a little more lovingly than that chaste kiss, more like a peck, that was shared as soon as they were announced man and wife? He suspected that the last thought was certainly not what she wanted to happen next, and frankly, he felt the same. This was nothing but a marriage of convenience, nothing more or less. Letting it become anything more was too dangerous; the last thing he wanted was to be hurt again. He did not love her, and she did not love him—it was fair, he thought. Although at times, he truly felt he could love her, love her more than he thought possible for a man who had suffered far too much from the hands of the last (and only) woman he had loved.

No, the last thing he would think of on his wedding day was _her_. Although he wondered if she had been just as miserable on her wedding day as he was at his—he assumed not. And he certainly was not going to reflect on how beautiful of a gown she probably wore was; pure, white, and lovely, he figured. And he most definitely was not going to realize the vicomte knew what to do next.

He shakily ran his fingers through the wig he wore, suddenly feeling like the mask and wig were unbearable. He practically ran to his own room, slammed the door far harder than he meant to, and tore them off, flinging them onto his bed. A normal husband would not be hiding! A normal wife would be here, comforting him, telling him it did not matter that his face was hot, and his skin was irritated, and she would kiss him and tell him she loved him!

He did not mean to release the sob building in his throat. What man cries on his wedding day? The same man that married to escape utter solitude. The same man who lied and cheated his way through life, earning him what? A respectable job, life, and wife?! That is not how the world works; that is not how it ever had worked for him! Why were good things coming now? Because he tried to be decent? What about when he was a child? What about his mother who threw his mask at him, seething hatred and malice at her own _flesh and blood_, when all he wanted was to be loved by her! How was this fair?!

A knock on his door frightened him out of his dreadful thoughts. "A-are you all right?" A shaky voice asked through the wood. He had nearly forgotten she was still in the house; goodness, he hoped she had not heard him cry.

He was always in mastery of his voice no matter how shaken he was. "Yes, I am fine." It was stiff, but it betrayed no emotions, no weakness.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was even softer now, sad even. He walked closer to the door, knowing he could not open it and let her see him with no mask and blood-shot eyes.

"Yes." It came out softer this time, and he could hear her sigh from the other side. "I will be out shortly."

Hiding inside his room seemed like the safer choice, but leaving the poor woman alone was even beneath him. He cursed himself for slipping back into the man he used to be; it was rare, but it still happened. It should not have shocked him that this day of all days would bring out his inner demons; now, he suppressed them as much as possible, putting on an air of normalcy—or what he hoped was normalcy. What did it matter, really, when none of this was normal anyways?


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter 11**

"I'm sorry, I've never been the best at making coffee, nor tea really." She added a nervous laugh, pouring two cups of the rather watered-out coffee into two mugs. "Cream and sugar? No? Here, tell me how it is."

He wanted to say it was very good, thank you, but it was quite literally hot water with coffee grounds floating around in it. Even he could not hide a slight grimace.

"That bad?" She took her own sip. "Good Heavens, that's the worst I've ever made it."

He could not help but smile softly; she tried, he had to hand that to her. She had tried so hard the past few days to act as if nothing abnormal had occurred, as if they were good friends who happened to live in the same house and were actually married. All his effort was spent on keeping her from asking questions that were better left unspoken; so far, he had been successful. He never imagined small talk could be quite so enjoyable though, nor did he imagine small moments like this could feel so… nice.

"Shall I try again?" She asked, a devious smile lighting her beautifully full lips. Ah, she had yet to show him that look. He rather liked it.

"No, I think you have worked hard enough this morning," he replied, his smile widening against his will. Her feathery light laugh made his chest constrict; he had made her laugh like that… he had made her smile. He was not sure it was possible to grin any wider than he was.

The first week was inexplicably awkward. Neither knew what to expect from the other, so little was said by either. But they both quickly learned that sharing a house leads to many encounters and staying silent was almost worse than not speaking. Short greetings led to small conversations, thus leading to a long talk neither expected to occur. And since that bearing of their hearts, things had been better—the coffee was still dreadful though.

That conversation happened entirely by chance; neither started it, and neither ended it. It was far more natural than seemed possible for two people who wanted to hide away from the situation they found themselves in. It began when he saw her desperately trying to hide her tears, and he immediately assumed he was the cause. He remained silent and passive as she sniffed until she sensed him, abruptly jumping to face him.

"You frightened me."

"I'm sorry; it was not my intention." Oh, those words went deeper than simply making her heart race a little bit. He misread her tears.

"Erik," she sighed, still feeling in the wrong to call him by his first name as much as he insisted she did. She patted the seat beside her, and he reluctantly sat on the end of the couch she was on.

"You are upset." His statement held more emotion than she thought possible. He was upset, too.

"Yes."

"Because of this?" _Because of me?_

"No, I just… I am missing someone who is not here nor can come here."

He did not believe her but asked who it was anyways.

"My aunt." The sad smile she gave him let him know she was telling the truth. "She was the closest thing to a mother I had." Her smile went away as grief clouded over in her eyes. "Ten years… you think I would be done with my tears by now." She laughed emptily, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. "I wish you could have met her." Had he been any farther away, he would not have heard her.

"I'm sorry." Nothing else could be said or done by him, nothing that would matter or help.

"Thank you."

Silence reigned for a moment before Erik spoke again. "If she is anything like you, then I think I would have liked her."

"You do like me then?" She immediately regretted the words, but she could not take them back now. It was not that she thought he hated her, by any means, but she wondered how much he truly liked her. After all, he had married her because she practically begged him to! Yet, he did seem happy… with just a touch of discomfort—not too unlike herself.

He paused for a brief second as soon as he processed what she had asked. "Have I made you think otherwise?" Certainly, nothing about this arrangement was ideal, but he did like the woman. He liked her from the moment he met her, frankly. She treated him as if the mask was not there, and for that he was incredibly grateful. In addition, she was incredibly smart and was enjoyable to speak with. She equaled, if not surpassed, every other man he had known in wits and common sense. Not to mention she was incredibly beautiful. Yes, he liked her.

"No! No, I'm sorry, I phrased that quite wrong." She mentally scolded herself when she saw the hurt look in his eyes. "I think you like me. I just wonder if you are… if you… are you happy, Erik?" She wanted to reach out and take his hand to assure that she was indeed sincere and happy herself, but she found herself immobile under his stare.

"Happiness has always seemed to elude me through my life. I can hardly say I know what it truly feels like to be happy." She dropped her eyes from his gaze, misinterpreting his words. "But I imagine it feels something like this." The small smile that graced her lips at that were only a reminder to him that indeed, he was happy.

**(A/N) HI LOOK AN UPDATE now that I'm done with college until the fall, I'm hoping I can post a lot more!**


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